Israel Centeno

In a time not marked by calendars but by the seasons of the soul, there lived a man named Ezra, a scholar deeply immersed in ancient texts, especially the Psalms of David. Ezra’s life was one of quiet contemplation, spent in the shadow of a great cathedral where he sought the divine through scripture.

One evening, as the cathedral bells tolled to mark the close of day, Ezra felt an unexpected pull towards the organ. Though not a musician, he was drawn to the instrument’s profound resonance. Sitting at the keys, his fingers instinctively began to play the melody of “Hallelujah.”

The song, rooted in the biblical cry of “Praise Yah,” resonated deeply with Ezra. He thought of King David, the shepherd-king whose life mirrored the song’s melody—full of minor falls and major lifts. David’s psalms were often a blend of struggle and praise, much like “Hallelujah” itself. Ezra imagined David, burdened by his sins yet finding a way to sing, “It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth / The minor fall, the major lift,” a musical reflection of a life marked by repentance and redemption.

Ezra’s mind then turned to Christ, the ultimate embodiment of Hallelujah. In His life, Christ experienced the full range of human emotion, from the joy of miracles to the agony of the cross. The song’s line, “And even though it all went wrong / I’ll stand before the Lord of Song / With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah,” took on new meaning. Christ, aware of His path, walked it willingly, transforming the ultimate wrong into the greatest right—turning crucifixion into resurrection, death into eternal life.

In that moment, Ezra played not just for himself but for all who had ever felt broken, for every heart that had known love’s sting, for every soul seeking redemption. The cathedral, with its vast echoes, became a metaphor for the human heart—capable of holding both sorrow and joy, sin and sanctity.

As the final note of “Hallelujah” faded, Ezra felt a deep connection to the divine story. The song spoke not just of David’s psalms or Christ’s sacrifice, but of every human journey through life’s discord to find harmony in faith. Cohen’s “Hallelujah” was more than a word; it was a state of being—an acceptance of life’s imperfections within a greater, divine melody.

Ezra left the organ, his heart lighter, his understanding deepened. He realized that to live a life of Hallelujah was to embrace one’s flaws, to find beauty in brokenness, and to praise not despite, but because of the trials. In this way, every person could be a David, singing their own psalms, and every soul could find Christ-like redemption, transforming every “wrong” into an “Alleluia.”

---